


If Fools Rush In, Then Let Us Be Fools

by Des98



Series: Less Heard, More Felt [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, CAN'T HELP FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU, Deaf Harry, Deaf Harry Potter, Elton John's Tiny Dancer, Elvis - Freeform, F/F, F/M, M/M, Music, Series of Oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des98/pseuds/Des98





	If Fools Rush In, Then Let Us Be Fools

Harry’d always been a light sleeper, even after he’d gone deaf, because his body was always on high alert from living with the Dursleys, and then from living through the second war, but during his eighth year, he’d been able to relax a little.  Without his hearing, all his other senses had been hypertuned into the environment, and the slightest movement of the blankets (or on the ground, in his cupboard or the tent during the war) or change of the lighting had been enough to wake him. Now that he’d let those senses relax, the opposite was true- he slept like a log, and it took vigorous shaking to wake him up from a nap or for class in the morning.

This was fine with the rest of the eighth years, as unlike the rest of their friends, Harry never told anyone to keep it down so he could sleep- which was good, because he was usually the first one to go down, catching up on a lifetime of sleep deficit.  But even if he was asleep by nine, that didn’t stop the rest of them from partying like the crazy teenagers they were.

“Oy, pass the bottle, would you?” Pansy demanded of Blaise, who took one last swig from the firewhisky before he levitated it over to Pansy.  The eighth year dorm room was cozy, done up in beiges and browns so as not to take any house affiliation, and there were two to a bedroom, with a bathroom off of each one.  They were in the large common room, and they  _ had  _ all been playing truth or dare, until Harry had fallen asleep against Draco, snoring softly as Hermione threw a blanket over him.

“Isn’t it funny that the person who can’t hear makes the most noise?” Draco asked, tweaking his boyfriend’s curls fondly.

“He never used to snore, when we were all in the Gryffindor dorms,” Neville sighed.  “I don’t think he ever quite got into a deep enough sleep for that, with a madman out for his blood and all.”

“Well, that’s all over now,” Draco said decisively, his arm rubbing the place under his robes where the dark mark was, before Dean had used his artistry skills to tattoo over it last week.  He’d done whorls and lines of sheet music over the skull and the snake, and Harry had also pitched in- whenever his partner ran his finger over the tattoo, the piano melody to Harry’s favourite song,  _ Tiny Dancer,  _ rang out softly.  It was really a masterwork of both art and magic, and Draco felt blessed to have been accepted by these people he’d grown to call his friends.

Blaise had done his mark over in flowers, and Pansy- well, Pansy’s family were only ever nominal supporters of the Dark Lord, considering it what they had to do to survive.  A rich family, richer than the Malfoys, even, they’d provided financial support to Voldemort in exchange for him leaving them and their daughter  _ out  _ of the fighting.  Nevertheless, not trusting the awful creature to keep his promises (and rightly so) they’d put their daughter in a muggle foreign exchange student programme, sending her to Australia, where, in an ironic twist of fate, she’d ended up being hosted by the Grangers.  

Once Hermione had restored their memories, she and Pansy had bonded over the experience, to the point where Dan and Jean Granger couldn’t believe there had been a point in the past when their girls  _ hadn’t  _ gotten along (during the year they’d spent without their memories, their supposed childlessness had saddened them greatly, and they’d grown quite close to Pansy).  They’d ended up  _ keeping  _ the house they’d rented in Australia, since their investment in a startup emu farm had turned out to be so profitable they could afford to buy it outright as a summer (or Australian winter) home.  Funny how life worked out.

“Pass me the hundreds-and-thousands,” Pansy ordered her host-sister.  “I want more fairy bread.”

”You and my parents, always with the fairy bread- I rather think the taste for it is some obscure virus you pick up there.”

“Oh, shut up,” Pansy rolled her eyes at her, “it’s good drunk food, and that’s all there is to say about it.”  She cast a severing charm on the loaf beside her, buttered it, and topped it generously with the rainbow sprinkles (which she still called hundreds-and-thousands, because she hadn’t lost  _ all  _ her sense of British dignity,  _ thank you very much _ ).

The one and only sense that was still finely-tuned for Harry, even in a deep sleep, was that of his olfactory.  Even though he’d left the Dursleys at eleven, after Poppy had done a thorough examination when he came to school completely and irreversibly deaf, that deep-rooted instinct of ‘eat while you can’ that he’d gotten growing up there had never quite gone away.  He still had trouble keeping weight on (the fast metabolism he’d inherited from  _ both  _ of his parents certainly hadn’t helped) and during the war, when rations were often scarce out there hunting for horcruxes, he’d lost a lot of what he’d managed to put on over the years.  The point being that his body in its most basic state was quite determined to root out any sources of food no matter what  _ else  _ he might be doing that he thought more important (like sleeping).  With his hearing gone, his other senses were sharper, his sense smell being no exception, so he had no trouble picking up the scent of fresh bread despite the fact that he was well asleep.  He was lazily batting at his nose the way most people hit snooze on an alarm clock, but eventually he was unwillingly dragged out of the realms of slumber.

”Really?” He signed half-heartedly at the Slytherin girl, not quite up to the stage yet of making his vocal cords work (it was easier for him to sign, even though he’d kept the ability to speak because the Dursleys would accept no less, but as the years went by it took more concentration to enunciate properly, which was, while not generally much of a hindrance, definitely not something he was ready to start into only half-awake).

“Sorry, golden boy,” she spoke slowly and clearly so it would be easier to read her lips, as her hands were too full of bread to talk with.  “But let’s face it- your ability to read your body’s hunger signals is kinda fucked up by this point, so the fact that you’re awake is  _ probably  _ a sign that you need the calories.  Here,” she buttered a large chunk of bread and handed it to him, sans sprinkles.  “Eat.”

“Mmph,” his mouth told her, while one hand took the bread and the other gave him a one-fingered signal that even non-BSL speakers cannot fail to misinterpret.  

“So cranky when you’re half-awake, my love,” Draco’s hands spelled out, his eyes filled with mirth, and Harry watched his lips twitched and thought that if he could only be allowed to hear  _ one  _ thing, it would be Draco’s laughter.  But he pushed that wish to the back of his mind as he snuggled farther into the Slytherin’s robes- there was no point in wishing for something he couldn’t have and ignoring all the things that made him happy  _ now. _

“So warm,” Harry signed as he pushed his head into Draco’s toned stomach.  Harry, perhaps because he was rather thin, or perhaps just because he was Harry, was always cold, wearing a jumper around the castle even when it was warm out, and he was always curled around Draco like a little Iranian Koala bear at nights (he’d originally shared a room with Ron, but when Harry and Draco had started getting more serious, Ron got tired of always walking in on them- because even with the silencing charm on the bed and the canopy drawn, you could still  _ tell _ \- so he just took Draco’s old room with Blaise and Draco moved officially in with Harry, although they only ever used the one bed).

”Of course,” Draco laughed, switching to spoken communication so his hands could rub the tips of Harry’s cold fingers to warm them.  “I’m your own personal space heater… Hermione, did I get that right?”

”Yes, Draco, you did,” she teased.  “Unlike in Muggle Studies the other day, when you thought our Manhunt campaign should be  _ Gorilla Warfare. _ ”

”What’s manhunt?” Neville asked, since he’d given up his muggle studies class to do a herbology apprenticeship with Professor Sprout.

”It’s this muggle game kids play at sleepovers and summer camps and stuff- it’s basically like hide-and-seek, but at night and a lot more dramatic,” Pansy told him, proud of her increasing muggle knowledge- she knew how to use the telly and  _ everything,  _ after living with the Grangers for a year.

“I’ll tell you what I’m  _ never  _ playing again, that Twister game,” Blaise shuddered as the bottle came back around to him and he took another long drink.

“It’s a party game for ages six and up,” Seamus rolled his eyes.  “How were we supposed to know you’d end up in Pomfrey’s, Mr. Ten-years-of-ballet.”

“Ballet requires grace and discipline,” Blaise snipped.  “That…  _ game  _ is just sadistic.”  Draco signed the conversation to Harry as it occurred, since his eyes were only half-opened and he couldn’t be bothered to lift his head to follow the conversation anyway.

“I like it,” Harry mumbled, opting to go with spoken communication by this point, because he was sleepy and his whole body felt heavy and he’d rather just speak lazily than bother to move his hands, even if the words didn’t sound quite right.

“Of course  _ you  _ like it,” Blaise grumbled.  “You and Luna are always the last two still in the game.” Draco signed this back for the sleepy Gryffindor lying in his lap, who just chuckled.

“I don’t even need to hear to know you’re just bitter you lost,” he told the other boy with a throaty chuckle, before closing his eyes completely.

_ “Aaaand  _ we’ve lost him,” Ron laughed and rolled his eyes as Harry dropped off to sleep again.

“I actually wanted to talk about something with you guys, anyway,” Draco started tentatively, running his hands softly through Harry’s messy curls as the much smaller teen made a soft, contented noise in his sleep and curled closer to Draco.  “Ginny, Luna- I know it’s kind of close to curfew but would you mind staying for a few more minutes?” 

The two looked up from where they’d been cuddling on the other side of the circle, Ginny’s hands gently playing with Luna’s long blonde locks.  “Yeah- we might just crash in here anyway- the couch is comfortable and we don’t have to go to different dorm rooms in different houses.”

“Awesome,” Draco acknowledged.  “So I was thinking about trying to convince Harry to perform at the Halloween ball that’s coming up… but I think I might need some help convincing him.  You know how he is about avoiding the limelight…”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed.  “Aggressively so. Honestly, I think if he could have managed it, he would have gone his entire Hogwarts career without telling anyone he was deaf.  Hagrid said he didn’t know the whole shopping trip… just thought he was easily distracted by all the stuff in Diagon Alley and wasn’t paying enough attention to hear everything he said.”

“Can you imagine if he didn’t have to confess that you were talking too quickly for him to read your lips, on the train?...” Ron trailed off as he looked at Hermione, not wanting to finish the sentence, and Draco clutched a sleeping Harry tighter to his chest.

“He would have gone back to those monsters,” the blonde growled, glad that Harry was sleeping so deeply that he wouldn’t be bothered by the reflexive way Draco squeezed his boyfriend’s hand like a lifeline.

“Enough wallowing,” Pansy ordered them.  “Harry hates it when we wallow on his behalf.  So, how are we going to get him to perform at the ball?”

In the end, they decided on a badgering campaign.  Contrary to the name, it had nothing to do with Hufflepuff- they were just going to beg and plead and badger him to perform until he got annoyed and agreed just to shut them up.  They were all drunk, so coming up with the idea took rather longer than it should have, and it was long after midnight by the time Draco picked up his sleeping boyfriend, who was still easily light enough that he could carry him to their bed without too much trouble.  

He laid the small Iranian teen down on the soft mattress with an even softer smile as he pulled the blankets around his thin form before crawling into bed next to him, peppering his nose and cheeks with gentle kisses as Harry instinctively latched onto him.

“Goodnight, my tiny dancer,” Draco whispered into Harry’s hair, even though the other teen couldn’t hear him.  He liked to imagine the sentiment worked its way through, somehow. “I love you.” It was certainly coincidence that Harry crushed himself even tighter to Draco as the words left his lips, but it made the blonde smile nonetheless.

[Ginny and Luna fall asleep on the floor, not able to be arsed to untangle themselves from each other long enough to move to the couch.]

“Hey babe, can I talk to you about something?” Draco asked him the next day after class as they sat alone in the courtyard, Harry wearing two thick jumpers under his robes and curling into Draco’s side to ward off the autumn chill.

Harry spoke aloud, as his hands were comfortably ensconced in his mittens and he didn’t want to take them off.  “You look nervous love- oh gods, I’m going to have to help you hide a body, aren’t I?” he joked, reading the tight lines in Draco’s face and his rigid, anxious posture and trying to ease the tension.

“No, it’s just- you know how much I love your singing and your playing, and I was thinking, well, hoping- there’s going to be an open mic night at the Halloween ball, and…”  Draco nervously wrung his hands after he finished signing.

“No, absolutely not,” Harry asserted, sighing as he watched his boyfriend’s face fall.  “I’m sorry, I know that sounds harsh, but it’s just… I get enough unwanted attention as it is, and, well, don’t you kind of like it that I only sing or play for you and our friends- doesn’t it feel more special that way?”

“Of course your voice is special, but it would be just as special to me if everyone else could enjoy it too.  And wouldn’t it be kind of nice to be recognised for something that you actively decided to do, since you’re going to be famous no matter what?”

“Ugh, don’t use logic on me, please babe?”  Harry pleaded, running a mittened hand through his hair, the static causing a curl to frazzle and bounce straight up and making the mess of raven locks even worse than it already was.

“Alright, I’ll let it go for now, just… promise me you’ll think about it?”

“Fine,” Harry capitulated.  “I’ll think about how much I  _ don’t  _ wanna do it.”

“Arse,” the blonde playfully batted one of Harry’s non-functioning ears.

“Prat,” Harry quipped, but the effect was ruined when he gave the blonde a soft kiss.  He didn’t really get hunger pangs in the traditional sense after living so long with the Dursleys and would often forget to eat if he wasn’t reminded, but he  _ always  _ had an appetite for Draco’s lips, and he eagerly sucked in the lower one, enjoying the taste of his peppermint chapstick. 

“I love you,” Draco signed to him, but Harry pulled his hands back to his waist.

“Tell me later,” he moaned into the blonde’s mouth.  “Your hands need to be doing other things right now.”

[It turns out you  _ can  _ have sex on a bench in a public courtyard with the help of a good notice-me-not charm.]

“So, everyone excited for the Halloween Dance?” Pansy asked that night as they all closed their books and, relishing in the fact it was a Friday, pulled out a bottle of Vodka.

“I know what you’re doing,” Harry rolled his eyes at her.  “You may  _ think  _ you’re sly, but it’s a dead giveaway that you’re talking specifically to me when you make eye contact and your lips move slower.  I’m  _ not  _ going to sing on stage, so just pass me the apple juice- you always overdo the cocktails.”

“I do not,” she argued as she filled the shaker with an overly-liberal dose of Grey Goose and a gratuitous splash of peach schnapps.  

“You  _ so  _ do,” Ginny butt in as Pansy poured the drink into her own glass.  “Snape wouldn’t even need that much to make it through an entire weekend of remedial first-year potions.”

“It’s  _ Professor  _ Snape,” she mocked, making a  _ bla-bla-bla  _ motion with one hand as the other brought the cup to her mouth.  She then knocked back half the drink before letting out an unladylike but rather impressive belch.

“Same thing for me, Pans,” Hermione told her friend, tossing her own cup over as the Slytherin filled the cocktail shaker again.  “All this NEWTS studying is exhausting.”

“You know my usual,” Draco told his friend as he added just a jot of vodka into a cup of ginger ale and offered it to Harry, whose favourite drink was just something sweet and fizzy like he’d never been allowed at the Dursleys with just enough alcohol to get him pleasantly buzzed (and it didn’t take much- as was predictable for someone short, small, and skinny, Harry was a  _ major  _ lightweight). 

“Of course I do- you’re so terribly predictable.  Gin and Tonic with a splash of lemon- it’s all you ever had to drink, just like all you ever talked about since we were eleven was Harry.”

“And I was like, ‘why are you so obsessed with me?’” Harry signed, trying not to snort his drink.

_ “Why  _ must you quote Mean Girls?” Pansy sighed as she rolled her eyes at Harry.  “The  _ last  _ thing you could ever pull of is bitchy white girl.”

“You’re right, of course,” Harry said out loud.  “I should just leave that to you.”

“Oooh, I’ll  _ get  _ you for that, Harry James Potter!” The Slytherins vowed.  “When I’m not so drunk,” she decided as she moved too fast and swayed a bit.

“Speaking of- where’s mine?” Draco prompted, holding out his hand.

“Oh, make your own, you great prat,” she ordered, flicking her wand to send the shaker and bottles towards him, where they crashed into his chest as he let out an  _ oomph! _

“So, seriously, you’re gonna sing at the dance, right?” Hermione asked Harry with a hiccup.

“Hermione, I already told you,  _ no-  _ I didn’t even tell  _ you guys  _ I could sing until Draco caught me at it, so why would I sing in front of the whole school?”

“Because you’re so  _ good  _ at it, and everyone deserves to hear it,” Ginny yelled, waving her hands exasperatedly.  “Please- I need to cheer up after almost losing my brother.” She made puppy eyes at him.

“Fred dodging a killing curse and scaring you by how narrowly it missed is an excuse you can use  _ max  _ once a week,” he rolled his eyes at her.  “And you used it to get the last muffin at breakfast yesterday.”

“But you didn’t even  _ want  _ the last muffin- Draco did.”

“And an insult to the honour of my boyfriend is an insult to  _ my  _ honour as well.”

“So you’ll sing then, to sooth the trauma that I received by going muffinless?” the blonde piped up, and turned his silver eyes on Harry, who gave him a piqued look.

_ “Pleeeeease!”  _ Draco begged in BSL, nuzzling his neck for good measure.

“No,” Harry asserted, but his resolve was weakening as the blonde peppered a trail of soft kisses trailing from his shoulder to his ear.

“Please,” he whispered against Harry’s skin, who, although he couldn’t hear it, could feel the warm puff of air against the sensitive spot behind his ear, and it sent shivers down his spine.  His long pale fingers softly slid up Harry’s thigh.

“This is sexual manipulation,” the other teen grumbled, but made no move to stop him.

“I know, and here’s some more…” Draco signed to him.  “If you sing at the dance… I will make your body sing  _ tonight,  _ and you can use a different kind of microphone.”

Harry slumped, and Draco knew he had him as everyone who knew sign language kept their eyes turned deliberately away from Draco’s hands.

“Fine,” Harry said out loud, to the group, “I’ll sing.   _ But-”  _ he interrupted, “I get to wear a mask, so nobody knows it’s me.  And platform shoes under my robes, because otherwise my height will give me away.  And I’ll sing  _ one  _ song.”

“That’s fine, as long as you sing,” Draco compromised.  “My tiny dancer,” he got close enough so that only Harry could see his lips moving as he mouthed the word.

[Harry and Draco go to their bedroom as the remaining drunk teens link arms and sing  _ Kumbaya _ .]

Harry took a deep breath as he adjusted his mask and pulled his hood over his head so nobody would see his hair.  He’d put a  _ notice-me-not  _ on his brilliant green eyes so they wouldn’t give them away either, watching as Pansy, Ginny, Luna and Hermione amused everyone with their hula-hoop routine.  Colin Creevey had done a stand-up routine about the struggles of being muggle-born, and people were still trying to calm their laughter three acts later, only to start up again as they remembered something the little war hero had said.  Harry wished he’d paid enough attention to lip-read along, as he could really use some calming laughter at the moment. Lavender and Parvati had danced to  _ Thriller,  _ Lav really hamming it up, and the Indian girl’s eyes dared anyone to say something mean about her girlfriend’s lycanthropy.

Blaise’s ballet routine was breathtaking, and Harry wished that he had been the final act instead of him- somehow, the idea of being the final act, the last thing everyone remembered when they left the dance and went to bed that night, made him even more anxious.  He tried to remember any of the occluding techniques Snape had ‘taught’ him fifth year, but he had nothing. And Remus and Sirius were out there- Merlin, he hoped they didn’t recognise his voice, because Padfoot was about as good at keeping a secret as Hagrid. He suddenly wished he’d had the courage to go steal a calming draught from Snape’s potion stores, but he was worried about getting caught- while the head of Slytherin wasn’t outright hostile towards him anymore, he seemed to hold quite a grudge against Harry for saving his life, the old git.  He  _ did  _ end up being helpful that night, however, as the image of boggart-Snape in Augusta Longbottom’s clothing managed to amuse him enough to forget about the weight in his chest.  

Until McGonagall waved him forward, that was.  He tried to keep his limbs from shaking as he took his shrunken piano out of his pocket and wandlessly restored it to full size, carrying it out to the stage.  He watched the student body fall still (and presumably silent, although how would he know?), looking curiously at the masked musician, wondering if the costume was part of his act.  He took one more deep breath, convinced he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest, even though that was impossible.

Nerves melted away as his gloved hands fell to the familiar chords of the first verse, chords as familiar to him as the blood flowing through his veins.  He felt the  _ C  _ chord reverberate in his very soul, and playing the  _ F  _ simultaneously with his other hand felt like kissing Draco, like two things that were made to go together.

_ CF/CC/FC _

_ CF/CC/FC _

Okay, now it was time to sing.  He thanked Merlin that he’d had the forethought to drink a glass of water before he came out on stage, or else his mouth would be too dry to open, let alone form words.  But there was nothing holding him back now, nothing except for his own fear. And he’d spent too long living in fear.

_ Blue jean baby, L.A. Lady, Seamstress for the band _

_ Pretty eyed, Pirate Smile, You’ll marry a music man _

**_Yes, yes you will,_ ** he thought, looking at Draco as the music flowed from him and his hands played the chords from muscle memory.   **_I’ll be your music man._ **

Wide eyes watched him as his voice slowly grew stronger, and by the time he got to  _ the boulevard is not that bad,  _ he had to tamp down a laugh that was bubbling up in his throat.  Music was freeing, and his eyes watched Draco alone as he got to the chorus.

_ Lying here, with no one near, _

_ Only you and you can hear me _

_ When I say softly, slowly _

_ Hold me closer tiny dancer _

_ Count the headlights on the highway _

_ Lay me down in sheets of linen _

_ You had a busy day today _

The last echoes of the G and the A chords faded to silence as the students watched, many wiping tears out of their eyes.  Draco tried to keep a neutral face, not wanting to be too obvious and draw suspicion that he knew who was singing. He prepared himself to go meet Harry in the common rooms, after he’d finished the one song he’d promised, but then Harry was moving his hands to the piano again, and his mesmerising eyes, which Draco would notice even with the world’s strongest glamour charm, were looking at him again, full of softness.

_ G, G, A minor, C, E _

_ Wise men say, only fools rush in _

_ But I can’t help falling in love with you _

Draco couldn’t help the small gasp that slipped out- Harry knew how much he loved Elvis, ever since he’d started listening to muggle music (he’d even bought a pair of blue suede shoes, much to Harry’s eternal amusement), and this soft love song was his favourite.  But he’d never heard Harry sing it, not before tonight, and it was so much more infinitely, painfully beautiful than he could have ever imagined, hearing Harry’s voice serenading him with this. He wished more than anything in the world that he could hear his beautiful voice, feel the artwork that his fingers made of the black and white piano keys.

_ Shall I stay, would it be a sin? _

_ If I can’t help falling in love with you. _

Flashbacks of their years at Hogwarts spread themselves before his eyes, brought to life in excruciatingly vivid detail by Harry’s music.  He was trying and failing to introduce himself to a skinny, forlorn boy wearing huge, ragged clothing in the robe shop, who was so much different than anyone he would ever have imagined being drawn to.  He was throwing a remembrall to the ground, watching in fear as Harry actually dove after it, catching it inches before hitting the ground as Draco felt his heart hit the ground at the same time, from where it had fallen to his stomach and then down to his feet in anxiety.

_ Like a River flows, surely to the sea _

_ Darling so it goes _

There was an ocean of fire in the room of requirement, Harry’s steady hands pulling him onto his broom, even though Draco was so much larger than he was.  His confident, focused flight as he took them to safety. He couldn’t even hear the flames roar to track their movement, he couldn’t even hear Goyle screaming, and yet he went back, making sure all three of them were safe before he vanished back into the night.

_ Take my hand,  _

The first day of eighth year, Harry offering his hand, Draco taking it, sure that it was just an empty gesture, sure that he wasn’t worth it, even though Harry never made empty gestures.  

_ Take my whole life too _

The night in the manor, when he looked into Harry’s face, which even bruised and bloody was more familiar to him than anything in the entire world, telling them, the death eaters, their terrifying leader.  Telling them he couldn’t be sure that it was him, when he was more sure than he’d ever been that he loved this man more than life itself.  _ If this was his undoing, _ he had thought,  _ then so be it. _

_ For I can’t help falling in love with you. _

Third year, when he realised that he was hopelessly in love with Harry Potter, to the point of taunting hippogriffs for just a second of his attention.  Fourth year, watching him come back crying, screaming, carrying Cedric’s body in his arms and looking so,  _ so  _ broken.  Sneaking out to see him in the hospital wing, wishing he could hold his hand, comfort him like his godfathers.  Wishing he wasn’t on the wrong side of the war. Afraid, more for harry than himself. Risking his life to toss Harry his wand so he wouldn’t have to watch him die.  Calling out “Potter!” when his heart, his soul, his bloodstream sang “Harry!” Their first kiss, in an abandoned hallway, the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard in his life still ringing in his ears, even though hands had long since left the piano.  The first time they’d made love, Harry’s very breathing musical, Draco’s hands soft, tentative as they ran softly along old scars, mapping out his body like it was a work of art, because it was. 

Harry Potter was music brought to life, poetry in motion, and as the last notes of the second song, the song only for him, faded into the completely silent hall, Draco slipped out quietly, forcing his steps to slow so that he could allow himself the tears streaming down his face to run their course before he got back to the dorms.  Harry Potter was a siren, and he was drowning in love.


End file.
